


Primrose Potter and the Philosopher's Stone

by MySuperAwesomePenName



Series: Primrose Potter [1]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Child Abuse, Child Neglect, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Female Harry Potter, Paranoia
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-04
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-04-18 05:55:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14206557
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MySuperAwesomePenName/pseuds/MySuperAwesomePenName
Summary: Primrose Potter had never been normal - in fact, she was so far below normal she was freakish (according to the Dursleys). For all that the wizarding world seemed different from the muggle one, one thing always stayed the same - Primrose was not normal, and would never be.





	1. The First Step

The Dursleys were proud to say that they were perfectly normal,  _thank you very much_. Mr. and Mrs. Dursley had a young son who they thought the world of, a nice house in a suburb, and a pristine garden which had won Best in Show three years running. In fact, the Dursleys had a nearly perfect life. The 'nearly' came in the form of their young niece, Primrose Potter. If you were to visit Number Four, Privet Drive, you wouldn't even know a second child lived there. She was absent from all the photos in the house, and none of the Dursleys talked about her unless it was to spread nasty rumors about her. The only evidence that Primrose existed was the cupboard under the stairs, which had been her room ever since she had come to live with the Dursleys.

Primrose woke up as she usually did - to her Aunt Petunia rapping on her cupboard door. "UP!" Aunt Petunia commanded. Primrose rolled off of her cot and pulled on her clothes, making sure the worn belt around her waist was cinched tightly, otherwise her trousers would slip. She made sure to turn her trainers upside down to get any spiders out before she put them on, and then she made her way to the kitchen, where her aunt was puttering around arranging things.

"Hurry up and look after the bacon!" she ordered Primrose, before hurrying to get the ringing phone.

Dudley was sat at the kitchen table, his pudgy forehead wrinkled in concentration as he tried to count his presents. Uncle Vernon, who was watching proudly, spared a moment to bark, "Comb your hair!" at Primrose.

He said this to her a couple times a week, though he really should have known better at this point. Primrose had thick black hair that curled in every possible direction, and nothing she did could change it. Dudley and his friends had made a game of who could pull her hair the hardest - it was called Primrose Plucking. The school had called Aunt Petunia loads of times to say that her hair was distracting the other students, and once Aunt Petunia had even set upon it with a pair of kitchen shears. It was awful - when she was done, Primrose's hair was almost entirely gone, except for some front pieces that would "hide that hideous scar." Primrose had cried herself to sleep, but in the morning, she had woken up to find it curling down to her waist, just as it had before the haircut. She'd gotten a week in the cupboard for that.

Primrose was snapped out of her thoughts when Aunt Petunia came back in and said, "Mrs. Figg said she broke her leg. She can't take her."

Primrose pretended not to listen as she carefully scooped bacon onto a serving plate. Mrs. Figg normally watched her anytime the Dursleys wanted to go out, and she always spent the whole time showing Primrose photo albums of her cats.

As her aunt and uncle argued over who could watch her, Primrose's heart began to lift. "You could just leave me here," she suggested hopefully. She would be able to watch tellie and maybe even play one of Dudley's computer games.

"And come back to find the house in ruins?" Aunt Petunia scoffed. "Maybe we could bring her to the zoo and leave her in the car."

"I just bought that car," Uncle Vernon growled. "I'm not leaving her in it alone."

And so Primrose found herself, unbelievably, going to the zoo for the first time. She was so excited that sitting in between Dudley and his friend Piers while they 'accidentally' bumped her too hard didn't even bother her much.

 

* * *

 

Of course, she should have known it would end horribly. On the way back to the house, Primrose sat hunched in between Dudley and Piers, who were still hysterical over the snake. She hadn't even  _done_  anything! She knew she'd get punished once Piers left, though, because he'd calmed down enough to mention that she had been talking to the snake. She hunched over a bit more as she accidentally met Uncle Vernon's eye in the rear view mirror. She was definitely going to get it.

She was infinitely lucky that all he did when they got home was throw her forcefully into her cupboard, where she was to stay for who knew how long without meals. Normally he would have taken a belt to her, but he was too upset to get any enjoyment out of it.

She stayed locked in her cupboard for hours. Eventually she smelled dinner cooking, and she hugged her knees to her chest, knowing she wouldn't be getting any. If she had a light, she could do something besides stare into the darkness. She could play with some of the broken toys she'd filched from Dudley's second bedroom, or color with her bits of crayons. The longer she sat in the dark and thought about it, the more desperate she was to have some sort of light, any sort of light.

Suddenly, a bright light flared out of nowhere, and she had to squeeze her eyes shut for a second. Then, she blinked several times in surprise. There, in her sad little room, was a floating, pulsing yellow light.

"Oh," she exclaimed in awe, dazedly wondering if she was going mad.

She was distracted by the sound of heavy, stomping footsteps, and the light flickered a bit before dying out completely. Her cupboard door slammed open, and she only had time to squeak in surprise before being hauled out by her upper arm.

"WHAT THE DEVIL ARE YOU DOING?" Uncle Vernon roared, and she belatedly realized he must have seen light from under her door.

"Uncle Vernon-"

"Bad enough to do freaky things in public, I'll not abide by you being freakish in my own home!" Primrose twisted her hands in her hair with a feeling of dread as she watched him take off his belt. She really wished, more than anything, that she had never wished for that dumb light.

 

* * *

 

A week later, Primrose wearily pulled herself out of her cupboard when her aunt rapped on the door. Aunt Petunia's gaze lingered on the visible bruises and welts, as it had every day for the last week, as it did every time Uncle Vernon punished her physically. Then, her eyes slid right past them, just as they always did, and she coldly ordered her into the kitchen to finish making breakfast.

Primrose glumly prepared breakfast, then sat down at the table with the portion she was given. She was on her second bite when she heard the sound of the mail slot clanging open and shut.

"Dudley, go and get the mail," Uncle Vernon said from behind his paper.

"Make Primrose get it," Dudley said.

"Primrose, mail."

"Make Dudley get it."

"Hit her with your Smeltings stick, Dudley."

Primrose dropped her fork in frustration, dodging Dudley's stick as she left the kitchen. She grumbled as she snatched up the pile of envelopes, only to pause as she noticed one that didn't quite fit in with the rest. She pulled it out of the stack and inspected the thick, old paper.

 

_Miss P. Potter_

_Cupboard Under the Stairs_

_Number 4, Privet Drive_

_Little Whinging_

_Surrey_

 

Her eyes nearly bugged out of her skull, and she wandered back into the kitchen in a daze, handing Uncle Vernon the rest of the mail. She began to tear open the wax seal on the envelope, only to have it jerked out of her hands.

"Dad, look what Primrose had!"

"Give it back," she demanded. "It's  _my_  letter!"

"Nonsense," Uncle Vernon said, chortling as he took the letter from Dudley. "Who would be writing to you?"

Suddenly, he froze, his beady eyes trained on the envelope. "Petunia!"

What followed was a shouting match in which Uncle Vernon told Primrose and Dudley to leave the room, Dudley refused as he wanted to know what it said, Primrose demanded that she stay as  _it was her letter_ , and Vernon forcibly threw them both out. The whole time, Aunt Petunia only stared at the letter, her shaking hand pressed to her mouth.

By the time another week had passed, they were, for all intents and purposes, on the run from the mail. The strange letters had kept coming, spilling out of the mail slot. When Vernon nailed it shut, they came in through the window, and when that was closed, they shot out of the fireplace by the hundreds. Primrose managed to catch one at one point, but she wasn't quick enough to get into her cupboard before it was wrenched out of her hands. She'd been so angry that she'd tried to fight Uncle Vernon for it. She'd got another belt punishment for that, and it hadn't even been worth it as  _she still_   _didn't know what the letter said_.

She shifted uncomfortably on the cold, stone floor she was laying on. She couldn't imagine how they could possibly get any mail on a rock in the middle of the ocean, so she was in low spirits, and the soreness on her back didn't help any. She glanced at the watch on Dudley's pudgy wrist as it dangled over the edge of the couch. When the alarm she'd set on the watch beeped, she reached over and shut it off before it could wake Dudley. Then, she sighed, imagining a giant birthday cake with her name in icing and eleven glowing candles. "Happy birthday," she told herself, blowing out her imaginary candles.

_Bang!_

Primrose flinched at a sound that was most certainly not thunder. She jumped up in time to see the door of the shack hit the ground with a deafening crash. A giant shadow lurked in the doorway and Primrose backed into a corner and tried to make herself as small as possible. Then the figure crossed the threshold, and said,

"Sorry 'bout that."

Uncle Vernon raced down the stairs, Aunt Petunia close on his heels, and pointed his shotgun at the huge man. "Whoever you are, get out of here now!"

The man finished replacing the door and turned to face them, looking quite amused to see the gun. "Shut up Dursley, yeh great prune." Then he took the gun, bent it into a knot, and tossed it into the far corner of the room. "Now, where's little Primrose, then?"

Dudley beat a hasty retreat to his mother when the giant's black eyes passed over him in search of his cousin. Primrose squared her shoulders and hesitantly stepped out of the shadows. "I'm Primrose," she said.

"Well o' course yeh are," the man said. "Yeh look just like Lily, same eyes and all - course your hair is all James! A very happy birthday to yeh. I've got summat here for yeh. 'Fraid I might'a sat on it at one point, but it'll taste fine just the same."

Primrose edged closer as he pulled a huge box out of his pocket. When she opened the lid, she found a cake iced with chocolate, with green icing that said ' _Happy_   _Birthday_   _Primrose_.'

She was unspeakably touched - it was the first birthday cake she'd ever had - but all she could force out of her suddenly tight throat was, "Who are you?"

The man chuckled. "Rubeus Hagrid, but just call me Hagrid, Groundskeeper and Keeper of Keys of Hogwarts." He went over to the sad little fire and bent over it. She didn't see what he did, but when he stood up straight again, the fire was much bigger.

"Sorry," Primrose said as he settled himself on the couch. "But I'm not sure what that is."

"Oh, I care for the grounds at Hogwarts. Course, you've heard all about Hogwarts, haven't yeh?"

Primrose shook her head. "I'm sorry," she said, because suddenly Hagrid looked very angry.

 

* * *

 

Primrose trailed behind Hagrid like a duckling, twisting her head this way and that to take in all the sights. Up until they'd entered Diagon Alley, she'd still not been totally convinced that magic was real. Her first instinct when Hagrid had told her that she was a witch had been to say, ' _That's not very nice_.' Even when he'd given Dudley a pig's tail, she still hadn't been completely sure she wasn't dreaming. And of course, Aunt Petunia had taken away what little happiness she'd felt when she'd talked about her mum.

_"Mother and Father were so excited," she'd said, curling her lip. "'We have a witch in the family! Isn't it wonderful!' I was the only one to see her for what she was, a_ freak _. And then she met that_ Potter _. And then she had you and I knew you'd be the same, just as strange, just as_ abnormal _. And then she went and got herself blown up, and we got landed with you."_

Aunt Petunia had said plenty of mean things to her over the years - like that time they'd been at the shop and she'd slapped her hand away from a soft dress and said " _dresses are for pretty girls, not for you_ " - but last night had, by far, hurt Primrose the most.

Still, she would listen to those words a thousand times to be in a place this magical. Now that they were in a more open area, not many people even noticed her, which was much preferable to the veritable mob in the Leaky Cauldron.

She and Hagrid stopped at Gringott's, where Primrose collected some of her money ( _her_  money!), and Hagrid collected a mysterious package that was  _really nothing at all, just running an errand for Dumbledore_. Then, they set out to buy all the strange, wonderful things on her school list. Hagrid left her in Madam Malkin's by herself while he went to run another errand, and she shyly let the woman lead her to a small footstool where she was measured for her robes. When she was measured to the woman's satisfaction, a robe was slid on over Primrose's clothes and the woman began pinning it, murmuring about accounting for the extra bulk of clothing underneath.

There was another kid there, waiting on the footstool next to hers, and she just barely stopped herself from looking around for someone else when he started talking to her. At her old school, people never talked to her, Dudley made sure of it.

"Hogwarts too?" The boy asked, tilting his shiny blonde head in question.

"Yes," Primrose said.

"My mother's next door buying my books, and my father's looking at wands," he said imperiously. Before she could figure out what to say to that, he asked her what house she thought she'd be in.

"I'm not really sure yet," she hedged, trying to remember what Hagrid had told her about the houses.

"Well no one really knows until they get there, do they?" he said. "As for me, my whole family's been in Slytherin. Imagine if you were in Hufflepuff! I think I'd leave, wouldn't you?"

Primrose hummed noncommittally, acting like she was distracted by the lady pinning her robes in place.

The blonde boy suddenly made a disgusted sound. "I say, look at that man!"

Primrose turned and saw Hagrid waving merrily at her through the shop window. "That's Hagrid," she told him. "He works at Hogwarts."

"Isn't he a sort of servant?"

"He's the groundskeeper," Primrose said stiffly. This boy was reminding her more and more of Dudley.

"I heard he lives in a grubby little hut and sometimes he gets drunk and tries to do magic, but he just sets his bed on fire."

"I think he's great," Primrose said firmly.

" _Do_  you," the boy said snidely. "Why are you with him, anyway? Where are your parents?"

"They're dead," Primrose said shortly.

"Oh, sorry," the boy said, not sounding sorry at all. "But they were  _our_  kind, weren't they?"

"They were a witch and a wizard, if that's what you mean."

"I don't think they should let the other sort in. Some of them have never even  _heard_  of Hogwarts until they get their letters. I think they should keep to the traditional families. What's your surname, anyway?"

Primrose wanted to say  _I never heard of Hogwarts before I got my letter_ and _it's funny how much you don't like muggles considering you act just like my muggle cousin_ and _there's not 'another' sort, we're all just kids going to school_. Before she could say anything, however, the woman removed her robe and told her she was done. Primrose quickly escaped before Thin Posh Dudley could spout anything else.

 

* * *

 

Primrose sat at her  _new_  desk in her  _new_  bedroom, petting her  _new_  owl that her  _new_  friend had given her. It was a good thing she had lots of practice at not crying, or else she might have made a right mess of herself when Hagrid had given her the beautiful snowy owl - " _your birthday present_ ," her first ever  _actual_  birthday present. Of course, the rest of her school things, including her wonderful new wand, had been locked away in her cupboard the moment she got home, but at least she had Hedwig, and her schoolbooks, and her special ticket for Platform 9 ¾ - whatever that meant.


	2. New World

 

 

Uncle Vernon had taken one look at her ticket and laughed himself silly. Then he offered to drop her off at the station and told her not to come back until next summer. Primrose nervously wandered with her cart until she found Platform 9, and then next to it… Platform 10.  _I knew it_ , she thought wildly.  _It was just a joke, a cruel joke, and the books are all fake, and the wand is battery operated_ -

"- _packed with muggles, of course_."

Her head whipped around so quickly that her neck cracked. There, approaching the platforms, was a family of blazing ginger hair. The woman who was talking, apparently the mother, was herding five children of varying ages, pausing now and then to scold one - particularly a set of identical twins. As Primrose watched, the woman sent the oldest three children… somewhere. They had gone  _somewhere_ , as they weren't there anymore, but she hadn't been able to see where they went or how they did it. She hurried forward as she saw the woman talking to the fourth child, a tall, gangly boy with a long nose.

"Excuse me?"

The woman whirled around in surprise. "Oh! Yes, dear?" Her eyes took in the huge, worn clothing and tatty trainers, and Primrose shifted uncomfortably.

"It's just," Primrose stuttered. "How - how do I-?"

"How do you get onto the platform?"

Primrose nodded in relief. The woman smiled at her as if she was one of her children.

"Not to worry, dear, this is Ronald's first time too!"

The tall boy waved at her, smiling shyly. The woman drew her close and pointed her in the direction of a brick wall between the platforms. "Now, all you have to do is run straight through that barrier. Best to do it at a bit of a run if you're nervous."

Seeing Primrose's disbelief, she directed Ronald to go first. Primrose gaped as he ran straight at the wall and disappeared through it.

"There, now, you next dear!" The woman gave her a gentle push.

Primrose took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and ran at the wall, fully expecting to be splattered against it. Only, when she opened her eyes, she was in a completely different place! When the boy, Ronald, gestured for her to get out of the way, she dragged her eyes away from the great red steam engine and leapt to the side just in time for the woman and her last child to come through.

She nodded gratefully at Ronald as the woman went about making sure none of her children were missing anything. Then, she pushed her cart through the crowd of children over to the giant red train. It was tough work getting her trunk off of the cart, and even tougher trying to wrestle it onto the train, especially as she was still sore from the punishment she'd got for the tail Hagrid had given Dudley.

"Want a hand?" A voice asked. Primrose turned around and found the ginger-haired twins from before.

"Yes, please," she panted, helping them maneuver it onto the train and into a compartment. When it was finally put away, Primrose pushed her hair out of her eyes and stood up straight to thank them.

"What's that?" One of them asked, pointing at her forehead.

Primrose flushed, realizing they had seen her scar. She still wasn't used to how fascinating people seemed to find it. "It's a scar," she told them, tilting her head so her curly hair curtained her face.

"You're not-"

"You  _are_!"

"Aren't you?"

"What?" Primrose said blankly, trying to keep up with their disorganized twinspeak.

"Primrose Potter!" they chorused.

"Oh, her. I mean, yes. That's me."

The twins gawked at her for a moment before snapping to attention as their mother called them. When they had left the compartment, Primrose settled down on a seat to watch the platform. The red haired family was gathered just outside her window, and the twins excitedly hopped over.

"Guess who we've just met on the train!"

Primrose leaned back so they couldn't see her through the window, feeling her face flush again.

"You know that girl with black hair?"

"The one who got on the platform with you?"

"Guess who it was!"

"Who?" their mother questioned, clearly used to their speech patterns.

"Primrose Potter!"

"Oh  _mum_!" the little girl squealed. "Can I get on the train and see her? Oh, mum,  _please_!"

"You've already seen her, Ginny. Good heavens, no wonder she was by herself! And she was ever so polite when she asked how to get to the platform!"

"Do you think she remembers  _You-Know-Who_?"

"I  _forbid_  you to ask her, Fred!" the woman said sternly. "Poor dear has enough to deal with, I'll not have you reminding her of that on her very first day of school!"

_A little late for that_ , Primrose thought wryly as she tuned out the rest of their conversation. It seemed she was destined to be freakish in the magical world, too. She cracked open her Potions textbook and began to read chapter five. She had read through almost all her textbooks, but she kept going back to Potions. It reminded her of cooking, which was pretty much the only thing Primrose was good at (besides cleaning and gardening and being freaky). It was certainly much more interesting than cooking, though, as potions were magical. Primrose had never seen a  _pot roast_  change a person into another person!

The compartment door slid open abruptly, and Primrose found the youngest boy of the ginger family hesitating in the doorway. "Er, all the other compartments are full. Do you mind…?" He gestured to the seat across from her.

Primrose put down her book. "Not at all," she hurried to assure him.

The boy sat down, shifting a bit and eyeing her forehead. "Do you really have the… the  _scar_?"

Primrose tilted her head so her hair fell away from her face.

" _Whoa_!" the boy exclaimed. "Wicked! Er, I'm Ron Weasley, by the way."

Primrose shook his hand. "I'm Primrose Potter." She hesitated, then asked, "Are all your family wizards?"

"Mostly," Ron said, squinting in thought. "I think we've got a distant cousin who's an accountant, but we never talk about him."

"So you must know a lot about magic already," Primrose commented, fascinated.

"I guess so. I heard you live with muggles. What are they like?" Ron asked curiously.

Primrose made a face. "Horrible. Mind you, not all of them are, just my aunt and uncle and cousin. I wish  _I_  had three wizard brothers."

"Five," Ron said glumly. "The oldest two, Bill and Charlie, are already out of school. Having loads of older brothers isn't all that great, either, because I get all their hand-me-downs. Like this," he pulled a grey lump out of his pocket. "Percy got an owl from Dad for being Prefect, so I got his old rat."

Primrose leaned forward to look at it. The rat was obviously very old, as it was very fat, and its fur was very thin. Ron poked it, but all it did was shift over and go back to sleep.

"His name's Scabbers, and all he does is sleep. Wish I'd gotten an owl, only we couldn't aff-" Ron suddenly went red and quiet, as if he'd said too much.

"Before I found out about Hogwarts, I didn't have any money," Primrose told him. "Aunt Petunia always just gave me Dudley's old clothes." She plucked at her old, grey t-shirt and made a funny face at Ron, who laughed a bit.

Primrose and Ron got on very well after that. When the snack trolley came by, Primrose bought loads of sweets, and the two kids shared them. Ron taught her all about Bertie Bott's beans, and Chocolate Frogs, and Quidditch. They were just debating about a grey bean that Primrose thought was pepper and Ron thought was mold, when the compartment door slid open.

The blonde boy from Madam Malkin's stood in the doorway, flanked by two huge boys who reminded Primrose of Dudley. "They're saying all up and down the train that Primrose Potter is in this compartment," he said imperiously. "Is it you, then?"

Primrose wanted to ask him if he saw any other girls in this compartment, but only nodded. "Yes, that's me."

He offered her his hand as if it was made of silver. "Draco Malfoy."

Ron snorted, and the boy rounded on him, his face going red. "Think my name's funny, do you? No need to ask who  _you_  are. My father told me all the Weasleys have red hair, freckles, and more children than they can afford."

Ron and Primrose both jumped up, and Primrose saw that Ron was even more red than Malfoy.

"You'll soon find that some wizarding families are better than others, Potter. You wouldn't want to get involved with the wrong sort. I can help you there." He held his hand out again, smirking confidently at her.

"I think I can tell the wrong sort for myself, thanks," Primrose said through gritted teeth.

Malfoy's face went red again as he dropped his hand. He seemed to be trying to think of something to say, and when he couldn't, he stormed out of the compartment, nearly bumping into a girl with frizzy hair and buck teeth.

The girl huffed, clearly offended, then turned to Primrose and Ron. "You weren't  _fighting_ , were you?"

She sounded incredibly scandalized. Ron and Primrose glanced at each other and Ron shook his head.

"Good. Now, have either of you seen a toad? A boy named Neville's lost one."

"Sorry," Primrose said, settling back onto the seat.

The girl's eyes focused on her, then widened. "Holy cricket! You're Primrose Potter! I've read all about you!"

She chattered on while Primrose thought about the fact that there seemed to be  _books_  written about her. Finally, the girl stopped and took a breath. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way. And you are?" she asked Ron, grimacing at him as he took a huge bite out of a chocolate frog.

Ron cleared his throat. "Ron Weasley," he managed.

"Pleasure," Hermione said, not looking very pleased at all.

Hermione talked at them for a while longer before leaving the compartment with a stern command to put their school robes on. Primrose and Ron looked at each other, a little dazed.

" _Mental_ ," Ron said.

 

* * *

 

Primrose hadn't known exactly what to expect of Hogwarts, but it was certainly more brilliant than anything she could have come up with. They'd ridden in boats across a huge lake, and the view of the bright castle against the night sky had sucked all the breath out of her. Of course, that was nothing compared to the Great Hall, which had a  _bewitched ceiling_. Primrose's eyes kept slipping up to look at all the stars.

When her name was called, she dragged her gaze away from the sky to timidly approach the stool. The Sorting Hat was placed on her head, and she felt the urge to giggle when it slid halfway down her face.

_Go ahead, it is rather amusing_.

Primrose jumped at the sudden voice in her head.

_As is that reaction_.

Primrose felt an odd sensation, like the hat was shuffling through her brain, only she didn't feel uncomfortable or hurt.

_Ah_ , the hat said.  _Plenty of courage, I see. A fair amount of cleverness, as well_. She thought about how she often talked in circles to Dudley to distract him until she could run away. The hat chortled.  _Yes, and quite sly too, I see. Hmm, loyalty in spades, though entirely too stubborn to do well in Hufflepuff. Not quite driven to do well in school, either, though that's through no fault of your own. Not Ravenclaw, then. So, either Gryffindor or Slytherin_.

_Not Slytherin, please_.

_Are you sure? You could be great in that house, you know - it's all here_.

She thought about being in the same house as Draco Malfoy and just stopped herself from shuddering - she did not want another Dudley.

_Ah, yes, completely understandable. Slytherins do have a nasty habit of putting their foot in it. Something they have in common with Gryffindor, actually. Surprised, are you? They're rather alike - two sides of the same coin, you know. Quick to anger and proud, the lot of them. Well, if you're sure, better be_  -

"GRYFFINDOR!"

Primrose hurried to the Gryffindor table amidst deafening applause. The Weasley twins were shouting, "We got Potter! We got Potter!"

Ron was soon sorted into Gryffindor as well, just as he'd predicted, and they grinned at each other as he sat down across from her. After Blaise Zabini was sorted, the feast began. Primrose was completely gobsmacked by all the different foods, and she ate as much as she could, seeing as the Dursleys weren't there to stop her. At one point, as her eyes were sweeping around the hall for what must have been the twentieth time, her eyes fell upon the teacher she had met at the Leaky Cauldron.

He was hesitantly talking with the teacher next to him, and Primrose didn't blame him for being timid. The man was dressed all in black, with black hair, pale skin, and a frightening expression. As if he'd heard her thoughts, his black eyes snapped in her direction and locked on her. She flinched as her scar stung terribly. She clapped a hand to her forehead, and Ron tilted his head.

"Alright, Prim?"

She lowered her hand as the pain seemed to fade, and quirked a smile at Ron, who had just given her her first ever nickname. "Just a bit of a headache."

She turned to Percy, who was Ron's older brother and seemed to know even more than Hermione. "Percy? Who is that man in the black robes?"

Percy adjusted his glasses and looked where she indicated. "Oh, that's Professor Snape - he's the head of Slytherin as well as the Potions professor. Try not to get on his bad side, as he's got a nasty temper. He's terribly biased against Gryffindor, though, so a more  _apt_  piece of advice, I suppose, would be: try not to get any  _more_  on his bad side."

Primrose pondered this. She'd really been looking forward to Potions, but if Professor Snape was as bad as Percy said, there didn't seem to be much hope that she would enjoy that class. She sighed. She supposed she could pick a different favorite subject.

 

* * *

 

There were six first year girls in Gryffindor, and Primrose was surprised that all their belongings fit comfortably into the same dorm.

"It's a charm," Hermione Granger told her. "Hogwarts automatically accommodates for the amount of students in each year."

Besides Primrose and Hermione, there were two girls who already seemed to be friends - Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Lavender had mousy brown hair, blue eyes, and a confident personality. Parvati, an Indian girl with long, shiny black hair, was a bit more quiet, but still giggled with Lavender when they found out that their beds were next to each other.

A girl with chocolate brown hair and blue eyes introduced herself to the room as Fay Dunbar and immediately asked if anyone else liked Quidditch. A girl with auburn plaits and hazel eyes smiled sheepishly and said that the sport was a bit too rambunctious for her.

"Really? I think it's the greatest sport in the world! But to each their own, I guess," Fay said amiably.

The girl grinned. "Good to know. I'm Sally-Anne Perks."

The girls got settled in and started changing into their pajamas. Primrose went to change in the loo, and Lavender asked her if she was shy.

"Er, a little, I guess."

"That's alright," Fay told her. "I'm only comfortable changing in front of other people because I want to be a famous quidditch player. They have to share a locker room with their team, you know."

Parvati shrugged. "I've always shared a room with my sister, so getting undressed in front of you guys doesn't really bother me."

After a bit more time spent chatting, everyone climbed into bed. Primrose immediately pulled her curtains closed and curled up, still feeling a bit paranoid about the marks on her back.


	3. Potions Class

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a general warning, this story won't always be updated so quickly - I just figured that since I had this chapter written, I might as well post it. Also, Primrose's own personality will start to become more obvious from now on, which will change the way some things happen. Anyway, I hope you like it - don't be shy about commenting, I accept constructive criticism!

The first week at Hogwarts was a whirlwind of introductions, first lessons, and getting hopelessly lost. Unfortunately, Primrose and Ron did the latter quite often. Primrose was observant, though, and Ron had a good sense of direction, so they  _usually_  made it to class on time.

Primrose liked nearly all of her classes. Defense Against the Dark Arts had been disappointing, of course, but that was more because of the teacher; the same went for History of Magic. Professor McGonagall taught Transfiguration, and although she was stern, she was also fair. Charms was taught by Professor Flitwick, a small, friendly man who squeaked when reading Primrose's name for roll. Professor Sprout, naturally, was the favorite professor of many of the first years, as she was very nice and had a cheerful manner.

Potions class was a disaster. Primrose and Ron had filed into the classroom with the other Gryffindors, tensing at the foreboding atmosphere. They'd only just settled down on the Gryffindor side of the room when a door off to the side of the desk slammed open, startling everyone and nearly making Primrose jump out of her seat.

Professor Snape strode into the room, his lip curled as he looked at the class. He quickly took roll, pausing when he got to Primrose's name and eyeing her with visible disgust.

"Ah, yes. Primrose Potter - our new  _celebrity_."

Draco Malfoy and his friends snickered loudly, and Primrose had a sinking feeling in her gut.

After roll, Professor Snape began to stalk the aisles. "You are here to learn the subtle science and exact art of potion-making," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. "As there is little foolish wand-waving here, many of you will hardly believe this is magic. I don't expect you will really understand the beauty of the softly simmering cauldron with its shimmering fumes, the delicate power of liquids that creep through human veins, bewitching the mind, ensnaring the senses … I can teach you how to bottle fame, brew glory, even stopper death - if you aren't as big a bunch of dunderheads as I usually have to teach."

Hermione Granger was practically on the edge of her seat, looking eager to prove that she wasn't a dunderhead. In spite of Primrose's reservations about Professor Snape, she was also enthralled, listening carefully to every word.

"Potter!" he suddenly snapped. "What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Primrose jerked in her seat, startled. "Er, a sleeping potion, sir?"

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Where you look if I asked you to find me a bezoar?"

Hermione's hand shot into the air and she leaned forward. Primrose was struck by the hysterical urge to say  _the store room, sir_ , but the fact that he hadn't told her if she was right or wrong about the first question curbed her inherent cheekiness. "I-in the stomach of a cow, sir?"

"And what is the difference, Potter, between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

Hermione's hand positively quivered in excitement as she lifted it higher. Primrose, meanwhile, felt relieved. She definitely knew this one - she remembered because she'd read that wolfsbane was commonly used in potions to be taken by werewolves, and she'd spent at least ten minutes marveling over the  _confirmed existence_  of  _werewolves_. "They're the same plant, sir."

Snape narrowed his eyes and stalked toward her suddenly, and Primrose shrank back, raising her hands a bit out of reflex. It wasn't uncommon for Uncle Vernon to cuff her when he thought she was being cheeky. She needn't have worried though, because Snape stopped abruptly and told Hermione to put her hand down.

"For your information, Potter, powdered root of asphodel combined with an infusion of wormwood makes not just a sleeping potion, but one so powerful it is known as the Draught of Living Death. A bezoar is a stone found in the stomach of a  _goat_ , and it will cure you of most poisons. As for monkshood and wolfsbane, they are indeed the same plant, also known as aconite.  _Do not_  think I will let you coast by in this class because of your fame, Miss Potter. When I ask a question, I expect a complete and detailed answer. One point from Gryffindor for your blatant laziness."

Primrose was still holding back tears when Ron exploded after class on the way to lunch. "Nasty git! He only took a point away because he was mad you answered those questions right!"

There was hearty agreement from the other Gryffindors. "He's right," Sally-Anne Perks said. "I read through the Potions textbook during summer and those ingredients aren't even mentioned until chapter eight!"

"Don't let him get to you, Primrose," Dean Thomas added. "He just wanted to take points away from Gryffindor."

"She didn't answer them  _all_  correctly," Hermione refuted. "She said a bezoar came from a cow's stomach when it's  _actually_  a goat. As for the other questions, Professor Snape just wanted you to be detailed with your answers, Primrose."

Ron glowered at her as Primrose flushed in embarrassment. "Come on, Prim," he said, walking a bit faster to escape Hermione. "You'll feel better after lunch."

 

* * *

 

On the day of their first flying lesson, Ron gave Primrose just about a hundred tips. "Don't worry," he reassured her when she told him she'd probably be the worst. "You said on the train that you would be the worst at magic, and you're loads better than me! Besides, half of the kids will be flying for the first time, there's bound to be  _someone_  worse than you."

Primrose felt oddly comforted by this sage advice, but she was still a bit nervous when they joined the class outside. In hindsight, she really shouldn't have doubted Ron. The moment she said "Up!" her broom flew into her hand and she felt it practically buzzing in excitement.

Ron's broom flew up, too, only its aim was a bit off and it smacked him in the face. Primrose doubled over in laughter and he shoved her a bit. "Shut up, Prim," he grumbled, rubbing at his face. His grumpy look was ruined when he snorted a laugh.

Hermione Granger was quite frustrated with her broom, which seemed to be rebelling. Meanwhile, Neville's broom slowly wobbled into his hand, and he looked like someone had just handed him the moon.

The teacher had them mount their brooms, which started out just as relaxed. Madam Hooch stopped to correct Malfoy on his positioning, and when he told her he had been doing it that way for years, she told him he'd been doing it  _wrong_  for years then. Primrose and Ron were in stitches.

Then, Neville's broom began to shakily ascend. Madam Hooch turned and scolded him for taking off early, but Neville didn't seem to have any control over his situation. He picked up speed as he kept rising, until he finally fell off and landed with a nasty crack that sounded familiar to Primrose.

He was clutching his wrist as he was led away by Madam Hooch, who told them very sternly that they were not to touch their brooms while she was gone.

Ron made a face at her. "Neville's really got rotten luck."

"Did you see his face, the great lump!"

Primrose whirled around to glare at Malfoy, who looked like Christmas had come early.

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Parvati snapped.

"Sticking up for Longbottom?" a Slytherin girl called Pansy Parkinson jeered. "Got a crush on him?"

"Look," Malfoy said as he picked up something small and shiny. "It's that thing Longbottom's gran sent him!"

"Give that here, Malfoy," Primrose said quietly, holding out her hand and willing him not to pick a fight. "I'll get it back to him."

Malfoy gave her a nasty smile. "I think I'll leave it somewhere for him to find - maybe, up a tree?" He mounted his broom and kicked up, rising into the air.

Primrose didn't think about what she was doing, she just grabbed her broom, mounted it, and kicked off the ground hard. The moment she was up in the air, Primrose realized something - she had found something she was naturally good at, without being taught. This was easy, this was  _exhilarating_!

Malfoy gaped at her as she leveled with him, high up from the ground. "Give it back, Malfoy," she insisted.

Then Malfoy smirked at her, and threw the remembrall as hard as he could.

Again, Primrose was seized by instinct, and she automatically darted after it. Its trajectory would have it smashing a second story window, and Primrose sped up to intersect it before it could get there. She caught it easily, pulling up on her broom the moment before she would have collided with the window.

She touched down on the ground to the sounds of wild cheering from the Gryffindors, who were jumping up and down and clapping. She grinned and held up the remembrall like it was a trophy.

"MISS POTTER!"

Professor McGonagall was storming toward them, her furious gaze locked on Primrose. Several of the Gryffindors ran to meet her, attempting to pacify her.

"Primrose was only getting Neville's remembrall back from Malfoy!"

"Malfoy threw it!"

None of their explanations stopped McGonagall from dragging their classmate off. Primrose felt as if her heart had lodged in her throat as she followed the professor through the halls. She was really going to get it now.

They stopped outside the Charms classroom, and McGonagall poked her head in to ask for Wood. Primrose hadn't known they did corporal punishment at Hogwarts, and she was so busy dreading it that she didn't realize Wood was a person until McGonagall said, "Wood, I've found you a seeker."

Later, in the common room, Primrose confided in Ron that she was on the Gryffindor quidditch team.

" _Wicked_!"


	4. Chapter Four

Primrose tried to work up her courage as she approached Professor Snape's desk. She'd sent Ron off to Charms without her, as she had to ask the professor a question. Ron had looked at her like she was mental, but in the end he'd just shrugged and done as she asked.

She suspected that he wouldn't answer her. He might even take points. Still, she couldn't find the answer to her question anywhere, so it was worth a try.

"Professor Snape?" she said as unobtrusively as possible.

Snape's eyes locked on her face and narrowed. "What is it, Potter?" he asked with barely concealed disdain.

"Well, I just- that is… Why do wizards use a bezoar from a  _goat_  specifically?" She finally burst out. "I mean, I read that bezoars from cows are used in muggle Chinese Herbology. Are cow bezoars less magical? Are bezoars from different animals made of different things? Can you make a completely different potion just by using a cow bezoar and not a goat one, or does the potion just not work?"

Professor Snape looked at her for a long time, only she couldn't tell whether that was good or bad because his face was still blank. Finally, he glared at her. "Miss Potter, do I look like a library to you? Are you incapable of opening a book, or do you just enjoy attention?"

Primrose flinched. "Only... I wasn't sure where to look as it's  _muggle_  herbology that uses cow bezoars and I couldn't find anything about muggle herbology in any of the books I looked in."

Snape suddenly stood, his chair screeching against the stone floor. Primrose leapt backward, her hands doing that defensive thing again. Professor Snape paused, eyeing her, then rounded the desk. Primrose backed up, but he only strode past her and opened his door.

"I am not going to write you an excuse, Miss Potter, so you'd better not be late to your next class," he drawled, sounding bored. His eyes, however, were attentively studying her, and Primrose hysterically wondered if he was trying to trick her into walking past him so he could catch her by surprise. Uncle Vernon did that sometimes.

She hesitantly crossed the room and edged quickly out the door, managing to make it past him before he could do anything.  _Ha_ , she thought victoriously, setting out for the Charms classroom.

They were levitating feathers today, and Professor Flitwick paired them all up. Primrose was paired with Neville, and she had the guilty thought that at least she wasn't Ron, who was working with Hermione. Primrose tried to help Neville with his wand movements, as he was just sort of windmilling, and the feather hadn't moved at all.

"Here, Neville," she said, using her wand to show him. "Just swish and flick, like this."

"Right," he said agreeably. "Just swish and flick.  _Wingardium Leviosa_!" The feather shivered a bit before settling down. Neville looked surprised.

"There, see," Primrose said encouragingly. Neville beamed at her.

Ron and Hermione, however, weren't doing nearly so well. Ron was mumbling as he said the spell, and Hermione bodily stopped him, pushing his arms down. "No, no, you're doing it  _wrong_. It's Win- _gar_ -dium Lev-io-sa, with a nice, long  _gar_."

Ron looked quite offended. "You do it then, if you're so clever!"

Hermione cleared her throat imperiously, swished and flicked, and said, " _Wingardium Leviosa!_ "

"Look here, now, everyone!" Professor Flitwick said delightedly. "Miss Granger's got it! Ten points to Gryffindor, Miss Granger!"

Ron sulked for the rest of the lesson.

Later, as they left the classroom, Ron groaned to Primrose, "She's a nightmare! Honestly, it's no wonder she hasn't got any friends!"

Someone knocked into Primrose as they passed - it was Hermione. Primrose was startled to see her swiping at her face. "I think she heard you," she told Ron.

Ron looked very uncomfortable, but he only shrugged. "I only said the truth - she must know that no one likes her."

Hermione didn't show up for their next class, and nobody saw her for the rest of the day. Primrose heard Parvati say during the Halloween feast that she'd been in the lav all day, crying. She and Ron looked at each other, and Ron grimaced guiltily.

Halfway through the feast, Professor Quirrell burst through the doors, sprinting into the room. "TROLL! TROLL IN THE DUNGEON!" He stopped before the teachers' table. "Thought you ought to know."

Then he collapsed. There was instant panic as everyone threw down their utensils and jumped up. Primrose even heard a couple of girls scream.

"Silence!" Dumbledore was talking as calmly as normal, but his voice was somehow loud enough to stop everyone in their tracks. "Will the Prefects please escort their houses back to their dormitories. Slytherins, you will stay here. Teachers, follow me."

As Primrose was following the crowd of students leaving the Great Hall, a horrible thought occurred to her. She grabbed Ron's arm and pulled him aside. "Hermione doesn't know about the troll!"

They ran all the way to the loo, and they both went pale at the the sight of a giant lumbering creature wandering down the hallway. "How did it get up here so quickly?" Ron whispered. "Trolls are supposed to be really slow!"

"Look," Primrose said as the troll went into a nearby room. "We can trap it!"

The two children ran to the door and locked it from the outside. They were in the middle of a celebratory high-five when a shrill scream rent the air.

Primrose gasped as it clicked in her head. "That's the girls' lav!"

Ron immediately started fumbling to get the door unlocked while Primrose anxiously yelled, "Come on, Ron,  _hurry_!"

When the door was finally unlocked, Primrose threw open the door and gasped as the giant creature swung its club. Hermione was crouched beneath the sink next to the one that was crushed; she seemed to be frozen. Ron picked up a stone and threw it at the troll's head. "Oi!  _Peabrain_!"

The troll didn't even seem to feel the stone, but turned at the sound. When it saw the two children, it raised its club. They leapt out of the way, Ron scrambling to grab Hermione, and Primrose rolling in the other direction. The troll's attention stayed on her and she threw herself to the side.

The troll, compared to how big it was, was a lot quicker than Primrose would have thought, and it snatched her by the leg and lifted her into the air. She would have reached for her wand, but all her focus was going into the sit-ups she was doing to avoid being bludgeoned. She mentally thanked the Dursleys for all the physical labor they made her do.

"Ron!" she shouted. " _Do_  something!"

And then, in a cosmic moment of sheer genius, Ron pulled out his wand, swished and flicked, and shouted, " _Wingardium Leviosa_!"

The troll's club was levitated out of its hands and above its head. Ron's spell faltered for a moment, but that was all that was needed for the club to smash into the troll's head and knock him out. Primrose was abruptly dropped, and scrambled to get out of the way of the troll's body as it fell. There was a deafening crash, and then there was only the sound of the broken water pipe and the three children panting.

Just as Ron and Hermione were helping Primrose to her feet, Professor McGonagall burst into the room, followed by Professors Quirrell, Flitwick, and Snape. Snape cast his eyes over the children before he leaned down to check that the troll wouldn't be waking anytime soon. McGonagall sputtered for a moment before demanding furiously what they thought they were doing.

Primrose started to explain, but Hermione interrupted. "It was  _my_  fault, Professor. I'd read about trolls and thought I could handle it, but I was wrong. If Ron and Primrose hadn't come and found me... I'd probably be dead."

Primrose and Ron tried not to gape at Hermione as she  _lied_  to a  _teacher_. Primrose suspected they weren't successful, though, because Snape was eyeing them suspiciously. As she was avoiding his eyes, she caught a glimpse of his leg, which looked like it had been mauled by an animal. It was suddenly hidden from view as Snape swept his robes over it, his eyes narrowing at her.

"Well," McGonagall managed finally. "I must impress upon you how very serious this is, Miss Granger! Ten points will be taken from Gryffindor for your  _serious_  lack of judgement! As for you two, five points," Primrose and Ron cringed. "-will be awarded to each of you, for sheer, dumb  _luck_. Now, if none of you are injured, please return to your common room."

As they walked down the hallway, Primrose had a feeling that Hermione had just become her third ever friend.


	5. Christmas

"What've you got there, Potter?"

It was the day before Primrose's first quidditch game, and she, Ron, and Hermione were sitting on a bench outside. Primrose heard Hermione let out a breath, relieved that Snape didn't seem to notice her jar full of bluebell fire.

Primrose hesitantly stood. Ever since the day she'd asked him that question about bezoars, she'd been positively certain that he was biding his time until he could catch her alone so he could knock her about a bit. She could think of no other reason why he'd mostly left her alone since then.

She showed him the book she was holding,  _Quidditch Through the Ages_. Hermione had lent it to her when Primrose worried aloud that she would somehow ruin the first quidditch game of the school year.

Snape took the book from her, ignoring the way she shrank back a bit. "No library books are to be taken outside, Potter. Ten points from Gryffindor."

As Primrose glumly watched him limp off with her book, she heard Hermione say in a puzzled voice, "That's not a rule." She was right, of course. If anyone knew if something was a rule, it would be Hermione.

"What do you suppose is wrong with his leg?" Primrose wondered, defeatedly sinking back onto the bench.

"Dunno," Ron said bitterly. "But I hope it's really hurting him."

As it turned out, a dog bite was what was wrong with Snape's leg. Primrose breathlessly told Ron and Hermione what she'd heard from outside the teacher's lounge.

"Snape was the one who let the troll in on Halloween! He was trying to get past Fluffy!"

Hermione looked reluctant. "I know he's not been very nice to you, Primrose, but Professor Snape is a teacher. He wouldn't do that."

Primrose and Ron shared a  _look_. Hermione was of the mind that teachers could do no wrong. Primrose imagined that, to Hermione, they held the same spiritual significance as the Pope.

They tried several more times to convince Hermione that Snape was up to something, but the next morning, Hermione remained as firm as ever, and Primrose gave up, as she was too nervous to put any more effort into it.

"Don't worry, Prim-"

"-We'll make sure you don't get bloodied up too bad!"

The Weasley twins plopped down on either side of her as Primrose tried to smile. When she first got on the team, Fred and George had told her they were Beaters ("Our job is to make sure you don't get hit!") Admittedly, it made her feel better thinking that the infamous Weasley Twins had her back - she'd never had anyone to stop her from being hit before.

 

* * *

 

"I told you!" Primrose and Ron said at the same time.

Hermione huffed. "Well, I'm still  _appalled_  that a teacher would try to kill a student, but I believe you now."

Primrose had just won the quidditch game for her team, but celebrating was the last thing she felt like doing. She vividly remembered the feeling of grasping onto her broom with all of her might, only to find her fingers slipping. Thankfully, Hermione had distracted Snape by setting his robes on fire, which had broken his eye contact and allowed Primrose to clamber back onto her broom. At the time, she'd just thought her broom was malfunctioning and gone on with the game. Now she felt positively terrified at the thought that she could have been killed. She would have to keep a closer eye on Snape from now on; he was proving himself  _much_  more dangerous than her uncle. Uncle Vernon, after all, had never come so close to killing her.

 

* * *

 

Time passed relatively quickly from then on, and in what seemed no time at all, Christmas was around the corner.

Primrose tried to slice her pungous onions thinly and evenly as instructed, but it was incredibly difficult because she kept shivering. The dungeons were nearly unbearably cold this time of year, and though the students tried to dress warmly, they weren't allowed to wear gloves, scarves, or anything that could be a safety hazard.

"I do  _so_  feel sorry for all those who have to stay here for holidays because they're not  _wanted_  at home," Malfoy said, his voice loud enough that it wasn't remotely conversational. Several of the Slytherins snickered and openly looked at Primrose. Professor Snape didn't even glance up from where he sat grading their essays.

Well, Primrose didn't feel sorry at all about staying at Hogwarts for Christmas - in fact, it would probably be the best Christmas she'd ever had.  _Snape_ , however, worried her immensely. On one hand, it would be simple to avoid Snape during the Holiday, as she wouldn't have to go to classes. On the other hand, the lack of students would make it infinitely easier for the professor to catch her alone and unawares. He hadn't given any indication that he would even do anything to her, but Primrose wasn't a fool. If Uncle Vernon could stay angry and draw out her anticipation for weeks, then Professor Snape, who had tried to  _kill_  her, could probably wait  _months_  for her to let her guard down. Well, he was going to be sorely disappointed, because Primrose was a master of evasion by now.

At the end of class, Primrose bottled and labeled her potion, steeled her nerves, and stood in line at Professor Snape's desk. As each student turned in their potion, Snape handed them back their essays. When it was Primrose's turn, she set her vial on the desk and reached for her essay, her eyes turned down. When she tried to pull it back, however, it didn't budge. Reluctantly, she looked up at him. He was looking at her in that assessing way again. He caught and held her eye for a moment before he released her essay, and she left the potions classroom as quickly as she could without drawing attention to herself.

Ron and Hermione caught up to her in the corridor, Ron bemoaning his terrible grade while Hermione, as always, informed them of her perfect score.

"What did you get, Prim?" Ron asked, trying to look over her shoulder.

Primrose smoothed the parchment where she'd had it clenched in her fist. Then she stopped for a moment.

Ron whistled. "Wow, an O! That's as good as Hermione's!"

But Primrose wasn't really listening; her eyes were glued to the bottom of the parchment, where, written in Snape's unmistakable handwriting, was what seemed to be a book title.

_Bridging the Great Divide: a History of Herbology, Magical and Muggle._

Primrose's first thought was that it had to be a trap. Why would he answer her question months after she'd asked it if he didn't have some sort of ulterior motive? He'd not even actually answered her question - instead he'd given her the title of a book. Maybe he wanted her to visit the library so that he could do something sinister to her there. But that didn't make much sense, did it, as the library was such a quiet place, and Madam Pince was nearly always there - she would surely hear it if Primrose called for help. Maybe he'd heard Hermione, Ron, and her talking about Nicolas Flamel and thought he could use her to get to whatever Fluffy was guarding. What if he planned to ambush her  _outside_  of the library? But then, he could have easily cornered her in any number of places, like the lav or just outside the common room  _or on her way back from visiting Hagrid or_ -

Primrose gave her head a good shake, trying to knock out some of the panic that filled it as she realized just how vulnerable she actually was. Well, that settled it. She wouldn't go anywhere this holiday without Ron, and she'd have him wait for her outside the lav whenever she had to go - better yet, she'd just use the one in the dormitories during the break. Feeling resolved, she went to lunch in a much lighter mood.

 

* * *

 

The morning Hermione was to leave Hogwarts for the holiday, she leaned over last minute and whispered, "Don't forget to look for information on Flamel. I'll ask my parents if they've ever heard of him, but I'm not sure they'll be any help."

" _Hermione_ ," Ron said, thoroughly exasperated. "We're not going to find anything - we've already looked through the whole library!"

"Not the  _Restricted Section_ ," she corrected, giving them a meaningful look. "Have a happy Christmas." Then she was off.

Primrose and Ron gaped at each other.

"You know," said Ron. "I think we've been a bad influence on her."

 

* * *

 

As it turned out, Primrose and Ron were too busy having fun after that to think much about Flamel. Primrose didn't even have to worry that much about Snape - she was always with Ron, after all, and they mostly stayed in the common room. He started trying to teach her wizard's chess, which was a lot like regular chess. The only problem there was that Primrose wasn't good at either (it didn't help that Ron's chess set kept giving her contradicting directions). They also spent loads of time with Fred and George, who were determined to force Percy to have fun.

On Christmas Eve, Primrose camped out with Ron in the common room, feeling excited for Christmas for the first time in years. She couldn't wait to go to the feast!

"Prim! Prim, wake up! It's Christmas!"

Primrose opened her eyes and stared blearily at Ron for a moment before she grinned. "Happy Christmas!" she chirped, springing up out of her pile of blankets. She jumped when she dislodged several things that had been sitting at her feet. It took her a moment to realize what they were. "Ron, I have presents!"

"Well what'd you expect, turnips?" Ron snorted, digging through his own pile, which was quite a bit bigger than hers.

Primrose slowly opened her presents, savoring each one. Hagrid had given her a wooden flute which he must have whittled himself, and she spent a couple minutes just blowing through it and delighting in the owl-like noise it made. There was a package of chocolate frogs from Hermione, and she traced the boxes with a smile, as she hadn't expected Hermione to give her anything.

When she picked up the third present, Ron groaned and went a bit red. "I think I know who that's from - my mum. I wrote to her and told her you weren't expecting any presents, and I guess she must've -  _oh no_ ," he said in embarrassment as she tore into the lumpy package. "She's made you a Weasley jumper. She makes us one every year, and mine's always  _maroon_." He showed her his jumper.

Primrose's jumper was emerald green, and very, very soft. She put it on right away and found that it was very warm, as well. "That's really sweet of her," she told Ron, hugging herself happily. There was also a tin in the package that was filled with homemade fudge, and she ate a few pieces before she turned to her last present.

When she tore it open, something fluid and silvery slipped out. She picked it up and almost dropped it again when Ron gasped loudly.

"No  _way_!"

"It's a cloak," Primrose said, confused at his reaction.

"That's not  _just_  a cloak, it's an invisibility cloak, I'm almost sure of it!"

Primrose didn't really believe him, but she put on the cloak anyway.

"It is!" Ron exclaimed. "Wicked! Only, invisibility cloaks are really rare and  _really_  expensive - who gave it to you?"

"I dunno," Primrose said, looking away from her reflection to find the package the cloak had come in. There was a note laying next to it.

 

_Your father left this in my possession before he died._ _It's time it is returned to you._

_Use it well._

_A_ _very merry Christmas to you_.

 

"Who d'you reckon it was?" Ron asked.

"I'm not sure. I've never seen this handwriting before," Primrose said around the lump in her throat. This cloak had been her father's. She had something that her father had touched.

"Oi! Why didn't you lot tell us you were having a slumber party?"

"Yeah, we're always up for a bit of gossip!"

Primrose quickly put the cloak away as Fred and George came down from the boys' dormitories. She noticed that they were wearing their Weasley jumpers - both were royal blue but one had a yellow  _F_  on it and the other a yellow  _G_.

"Look, Prim's even got a Weasley jumper!" Fred exclaimed.

"Only yours is way nicer, Prim," George complained, inspecting her jumper. "Mum clearly makes more of an effort if you're not family."

"You lot are so loud in the morning," Percy complained as he came downstairs, in the middle of unwrapping his own Weasley jumper and fudge.

"Look, Perce," Fred said, taking his jumper and holding it up for Percy to see as though he were a young child.

" _P_  for Prefect!" George chimed in.

"Go on-"

"-put it on, Perce!"

"We're all wearing ours!"

"Even Prim has one!"

Percy struggled as they wrestled the jumper onto him, forcing his arms to his sides. Then they frog-marched him out of the common room.


	6. Chapter 6

Later that night, Primrose was settling into bed after a day full of feasting, snowball fights, and wizard's chess, when she remembered the cloak. She climbed to the edge of her bed and pulled the cloak out from under it, letting the silvery fabric slide between her fingers.

_Use it well_.

Primrose jumped out of bed and threw on the cloak - she had to use it, now. She hesitated a bit when she reached the common room, glancing at the stairs that led to the boys' dormitories. Primrose and Ron had discovered that Ron couldn't get into the girls' dormitories - in fact they tried it rather a lot after they found out that the stairs turned into a fun slide. For some reason, however, girls could get into the boys' dormitories. Should she go and get Ron so he could come with her? She didn't want him feeling left out of an adventure. But then… this was her father's cloak, something that had  _belonged_  to him, and she felt that, just for the first time, she wanted to use it alone.

She resolutely made her way out of the common room, ignoring the Fat Lady's sleepy noise of confusion. Once out in the corridor, she debated for a bit about where she should go when she remembered what Hermione had said about the Restricted Section. She could look there for information about Nicolas Flamel and no one would be the wiser!

The library looked ominous in the middle of the night, but Primrose felt safe in the knowledge that no one could see her. She carefully stepped over the rope that divided the Restricted Section from the rest of the library. Only, once she was there, she wasn't really sure where to begin. Most of the books in this section didn't even have titles, so she decided to just pick a random one and start skimming. Her luck really must be terrible, however, because the first book she opened let out the most blood curdling shriek she had ever heard. She quickly snapped the book shut, but the scream went on and on. Primrose quickly shoved the book back into place and tried to make a quick escape. She hurried blindly down an unfamiliar corridor just outside the library, and her face paled when she heard Filch's greasy voice, "You asked me to come directly to you, Professor, if anyone was wandering around at night, and somebody's been in the library - Restricted Section."

To her absolute horror, it was Snape who replied. "The Restricted Section? Well, they can't be far, we'll catch them."

Primrose began to feel faint as she heard their footsteps coming around the corner. If she was caught now, Professor Snape would have the perfect opportunity to do …  _something_  … and Primrose doubted Filch would come to her aid, as just the other day she'd heard him lamenting the fact that the school no longer used thumbscrews. She slowly backed away when she saw them, slipping into a room whose door was cracked open. She waited for a long time after Snape and Filch's footsteps faded, but she couldn't bring herself to leave in case it was a trap.

When she turned and looked at the room itself, she nearly shrieked, and whirled around to look behind her. There was nothing there, but the mirror across the room clearly showed her and at least ten other people. She hesitantly crept closer to the mirror, wondering if it was enchanted. There was an inscription on the top which read,  _Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi_.

Primrose frowned at the words for a minute before her attention was brought back to the reflection. There were two people just on either side of her, a man and a woman who looked to be in their twenties. The man was tall and thin with a pointed face and messy black hair. His hazel eyes shined out at her from behind circle-framed glasses. The woman was also quite tall, though she only came up to the man's chin. She had dark red hair that lay across her shoulders in soft ringlets, a heart-shaped face, and achingly familiar bright green eyes.

"Mum?" she whispered. "Dad?"

They both smiled at her, and the man - James - put his hand on her shoulder. Primrose couldn't feel it, and when she looked, she saw that it wasn't really there. Her mum, Lily, had tears in her eyes, but never stopped smiling. Further behind her parents, there were other people who had features like Primrose's. Curly hair, freckles, pointed faces... Primrose knew, suddenly and instinctively, that she was looking at her family. Not just relatives like Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon and Dudley, but an actual  _family_. Not one of the people in the mirror scowled or sneered or even  _frowned_  at her. They looked at her like Aunt Petunia looked at Dudley - like she was something infinitely precious.

Primrose wasn't sure how long she stared at her family, but a sudden sound startled her, and she threw her cloak back over herself, touching the mirror longingly. "I'll come back," she told them.

 

 

* * *

 

 

"You could have woke me up," Ron said crossly when she told him the next morning about the mirror.

"Sorry, Ron," Primrose said sheepishly. "But you can come with me tonight - I'm going back to see the mirror again."

"It would be neat to see your mum and dad," Ron admitted.

"And I can see all of your family," Primrose chirped. "You can show me your dad and your other brothers and everyone!"

"You can see them any old time," Ron said dismissively. "Just come round to my house this summer. Besides, what if it only shows dead people?"

Primrose couldn't believe that Ron would invite her to his house so casually - she'd never been to anyone's house before besides Mrs. Figg's. "Well, there must be someone in your family who died that you could show me."

"Maybe Mum's brothers," Ron said thoughtfully. "Gideon and Fabian. They were twins like Fred and George. Mum doesn't talk about them much, but they died during the last war. Anyway, it's a shame about Flamel. Prim, are you going to eat that?"

Primrose slid her plate over to Ron. She couldn't eat, she'd just seen her parents last night and she'd be seeing them again tonight! And anyway, was it even any big deal that they didn't know who Nicolas Flamel was? Did it really matter if Snape got whatever Fluffy was hiding?

"Are you alright, Prim?" Ron asked. "You look odd."

 

 

* * *

 

 

Primrose was terrified that she wouldn't be able to find the mirror room again, but just as Ron started complaining about his freezing feet, she recognized the door. "There it is!"

They hurried inside and threw off the cloak, standing in front of the mirror. Primrose's parents beamed when they saw her. "See, Ron?"

"See what?" Ron asked in confusion. "All I see is the two of us standing in our pajamas."

"Take a proper look, here, come stand where I am."

Primrose stepped back and watched as Ron's face morphed from doubtful to shocked to delighted. "Look at me!"

"Do you see your family standing all around you?" Primrose pressed excitedly.

"No," Ron said, his chest puffing out. "I see myself, but I'm older, and I'm holding the Quidditch Cup! And I'm  _Head Boy_! Prim, do you think this mirror shows the future?"

"How can it?" Primrose asked. "All my family are dead. Let me have another look -"

"No way! You had it all to yourself last night! Just give me a bit more time."

"Yes, but you're only holding the Quidditch Cup, what's so interesting about that? I want to see my parents -"

"Don't push me -"

Primrose and Ron were startled out of their bickering by a noise just outside the cracked door. "Quick!" Ron threw the cloak over them both and they held their breath as Mrs. Norris nosed the door open further and surveyed the room. After a long, tense moment, she turned and left.

"We should go," Ron said. "She might have gone to get Filch!"

 

 

* * *

 

 

"Aren't you going to eat anything, Prim?"

"I'm not really hungry."

"Okay, well... after this do you wanna play wizard's chess?"

"No."

"Prim," Ron said sternly, leaning over the table to stare her down. The effect was ruined by the syrup he got on his clothes. "I know what you're thinking about, and I don't think you should go back to that mirror."

"Why not?" Primrose had been feeling listless and empty since she'd left the mirror, and she just wanted to see her parents and feel happy again.

"It just gave me a bad feeling. Besides, Dad told me that enchanted things can be really dangerous."

Ron made Primrose promise not to go and find the mirror again, but Primrose secretly planned on doing it anyway. What did Ron know? How on earth could seeing her parents be dangerous?

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, Primrose quickly located the room and settled down cross-legged on the floor, her gaze on her mum's smile.

"Back again, Primrose?"

Primrose felt as if she had been dunked in freezing cold water. She shot to her feet and whirled around to find Professor Dumbledore standing in the far corner of the room.

"I-I didn't see you there, sir."

"Fascinating how short-sighted being invisible makes you," Dumbledore hummed. To Primrose's relief, he was smiling. "I see that you, like hundreds before you, have discovered the Mirror of Erised."

"I didn't know it was called that," Primrose admitted.

"Can you guess what it does?"

"Well, it showed me my family."

"And it showed your friend Ronald as Head Boy."

"How did you know that?" Primrose asked, startled.

"Some do not need a cloak to become invisible," Dumbledore said gently. "Now, can you tell me what the mirror shows us?"

Primrose must have looked lost, because he said, "Let me explain. The happiest man on earth would be able to use the Mirror of Erised like a normal mirror - that is, he would look into it and see only himself, exactly as he is. Does that help?"

"It… shows us what we want," Primrose said. "Whatever we want."

"Yes and no," Dumbledore mused. "It shows us nothing more or less than the deepest, most desperate desire of our hearts. You, who have never known your family, see them standing around you. Ronald Weasley, who has always felt overshadowed by his brothers, sees himself standing alone, the best of all of them. However, this mirror gives us neither knowledge nor truth. Men have wasted away before it, entranced by what they see, or driven mad, not knowing if what it shows is real or even possible.

"The mirror will be moved to a new home tomorrow, Primrose, and I must ask you not to seek it out again. If you ever  _do_  come across it, you will now be prepared. It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that. Now, why don't you put that admirable cloak back on and get off to bed?"

Primrose thought about asking Dumbledore what he saw in the Mirror of Erised, but in the end she quietly did as he said, worried that he would give her detention if she lingered anymore. If there was one thing she had learned from her ordeal with Snape, it was that even wizarding grown-ups didn't seem to like questions.

 

 

* * *

 

 

Ron was smug when Primrose told him he was right about the mirror, but it didn't take him long to forget about it. Primrose, however, started having nightmares of her parents' tearful smiles and a high voice and bright flash of green light.

When the break ended and Hermione came back, the trio again tried to find information on Nicolas Flamel. It was difficult work, especially as Ron and Hermione were often left to their own devices. Wood had come back from the holiday with a renewed determination to win the Quidditch Cup, and he made the team practice for hours a day, even in the rain. The team thought Oliver was working them too hard, but Primrose didn't mind - it was hard to have nightmares when she was exhausted from training.

One day, on a particularly wet and muddy practice session, they found out why Oliver was working them so hard.

Primrose was keeping an eye out for the snitch, but it was difficult when the Weasley twins kept distracting her.

"Prim, watch me!" Fred shouted, doing a flip in the air.

"No, Prim, watch  _me_!" George hollered, dive bombing Fred.

They'd been fooling about for nearly all of practice, intent on making Primrose laugh. Primrose appreciated that they'd noticed her melancholy mood, but she rather wished they wouldn't try Wood's patience. Finally, after George pretended to fall off his broom for the third time, Oliver snapped.

"Will you stop messing around!" he yelled. "That's exactly the sort of thing that'll lose us the match! Snape's refereeing this time, and he'll be looking for any reason to knock points off Gryffindor!"

George really did fall off of his broom at that, and Primrose felt all the blood leave her face as she and the others touched down.

" _Snape's_  refereeing?" George sputtered through a mouthful of mud.

"When's he ever refereed a Quidditch match?" Fred demanded. "He's not going to be fair if it looks like we might beat Slytherin!"

"It's not  _my_  fault," Oliver insisted. "Look, we'll just have to play a clean game and make sure Snape hasn't got an excuse to pick on us."

The rest of the team seemed to relax a bit after that, but Primrose couldn't concentrate for the rest of practice. When practice ended, Primrose didn't stay around to talk as she usually did, but headed straight to the common room where Ron and Hermione were playing chess. When Primrose had finished telling them about Snape refereeing, her friends were nearly as pale as she was.

"Don't play," Hermione ordered at once.

"Yeah, say you're ill," Ron said.

"Pretend to break your leg," Hermione suggested.

" _Really_  break your leg!"

Primrose seriously considered it for a long moment before she shook her head. "No, I have to play. The team hasn't got a reserve seeker - if I don't play, the whole team won't be able to."

At that moment, Neville tumbled into the common room, his legs glued together with what Primrose recognized as the Leg-Locker Curse. There was general laughter from most of the Gryffindors, but Primrose and Hermione jumped up at once to help him. Hermione performed the counter curse on Neville, and Primrose pulled him to his feet and led him over to sit with them. "What happened, Neville?"

"Malfoy caught me outside the library," Neville admitted. "Said he was looking for someone to try it out on."

"Go to Professor McGonagall," Hermione instructed.

Primrose knew from experience that going to an adult about bullies usually only made the situation worse - especially if the bully  _was_  an adult - but she kept that thought to herself.

"Stand up for yourself, Neville," Ron told him. "He's used to walking all over people, but that's no reason to lie down and let him!"

"You don't have to tell me I don't belong in Gryffindor," Neville said glumly. "Malfoy already said that - I'm a disappointment to my house."

Primrose remembered all the times that she wished someone would comfort her after the Dursleys had put her down, and she found herself fiercely saying, "You're worth twelve of him, Neville! You belong in Gryffindor because the hat put you here, and the hat  _wasn't_  wrong! If anyone's a disappointment to their house, it's Malfoy - he wouldn't know how to be subtle if it bit him on the arm!"

Ron and Hermione gaped at Primrose while she dug around in her pocket for the last of the chocolate frogs Hermione gave her for Christmas. "Here, Neville, you'll feel better if you have some chocolate."

Neville, who was just as shocked by her vehemence as the other two, accepted the candy and took a bite as if in a trance. "Thanks, Primrose," he said finally, coming back to himself. "I think I'm just going to go up to bed. Do you want the card? You collect them, right?"

Primrose held the card in her hand and watched Neville trudge up the boys' staircase.

" _Whoa_ , Prim," Ron said. "You must really feel bad for Neville!"

Primrose shrugged, self-consciously straightening her clothing. Hermione was watching her closely, and it made her want to cover her skin. "I just hate bullies. They make you feel small and weak, and there's not usually anything you can do about it."

Hermione looked as if she'd just suddenly understood a difficult arithmetic problem. Primrose, in an effort to avoid an awkward conversation, busied herself with reading her chocolate frog card and inadvertently solved the mystery of Nicolas Flamel.


	7. Chapter 7

The night before her quidditch match, Primrose dreamt she was up in the air on her broom, searching for the snitch. She couldn’t remember how long she’d been searching for it, or what the score was, but all she knew was that she had to find it before Snape killed her.

“ _Prim, watch this_!”

George, who was a few feet below her, let go of his broom and leaned back, tumbling off and dropping like a rock toward the ground far below. Primrose’s stomach flipped, and she angled her broom toward the ground in an effort to catch her teammate.

It was no use, as no matter how fast she went, George remained just out of reach.

The ground was so close she could see individual people in the stands.

Finally, when it seemed she was getting close enough to grab George, a black blur separated them. Forced to a stop, Primrose stared in horror at Snape, who was hovering in midair without a broom. He sneered at her, and raised his wand. His voice was high and reedy.

“ _Avada Kedavra_!”

Primrose woke in the middle of throwing herself out of her bed. She hit the floor with a loud thump, and laid there a moment, trying to get her bearings.

“Primrose! Are you okay?”

Bushy russet curls bounced into view, followed by a familiar face.

“Hermione?” Primrose croaked, disoriented.

Hermione grabbed Primrose’s hands and pulled her up. “I was just coming to wake you - it’s nearly time for breakfast - and then you just fell out of bed!”

Primrose shuddered. “I had a terrible dream, Hermione! George fell and then Snape was floating without a broom and he cursed me-”

Hermione looked a bit flustered at how uncharacteristically expressive Primrose was being, but she simply put her hands on the other girl’s shoulders and did what Hermione did best: logic. “Primrose, it was only a dream. No one can really fly by themselves, can they? And Snape would never dare curse you in front of an entire stand of people. It was only your subconscious getting the best of you.”

Primrose nodded, her heartbeat settling a bit. “Yeah. Yeah, you’re right.”

Hermione nodded once, decisively. “Now, get dressed, you need to eat a big breakfast.”

Primrose didn’t see the point of eating a big meal when there was a chance she’d sick it up later, but she decided to choose her battles.

 

 

* * *

  


Standing on the Quidditch Pitch as Oliver shook hands with Hufflepuff’s captain, Primrose looked for her friends in the stands. They had assured her over breakfast that they had been practicing the Leg-Locker jinx, just in case Snape got any ideas. Seeing as how Hermione usually mastered any spell she tried, she felt confident that even if Snape cursed her, his legs, at least, would be extra locked.

Which wouldn’t stop him from casting a spell, but it might distract him, and it made Primrose feel better anyway.

She heard one of the twins whistle behind her. “Wow, even Dumbledore showed up!”

Primrose whipped around to look where Fred was pointing, and the sheer relief she felt made her knees a little wobbly. There was no _way_ Snape would try anything with the greatest wizard of their time watching.

Oliver wasn’t so relieved, however. He took her aside just before they ascended. “Listen, Primrose, I want you to catch that snitch as soon as possible. Maybe we can end the game before Snape awards Hufflepuff too many penalties.”

Primrose nodded dutifully, feeling much more focused now that she wasn’t worried about being zapped out of the sky.

The game felt like a blur to Primrose, who caught the snitch in record time and narrowly avoided crashing into Snape in the process. She was so anxious about her near run-in with the man that she didn’t notice Dumbledore clapping a hand on her shoulder and congratulating her until it was already over. In a daze, she lingered in the locker room, staring blankly at her broom for a bit. She wasn’t sure how long she stood there before she shook her head and changed into her regular clothing. She was just leaving the pitch when she caught a glimpse of a shadow entering into the Forbidden Forest.

She really shouldn’t follow whoever it was.

But if she didn’t, then who would?

With that sorted, she mounted her broom and took off after the person, making sure to keep out of the line of sight. Just inside the cover of the trees, she began to make out hushed voices, and she quietly urged her broom a bit closer, coming to hover in the branches above the noises.

It was Quirrell and Snape. Snape was leaning over Quirrell threateningly, his face set in a sneer. She couldn’t see Quirrell’s face, but he was stuttering worse than ever. “... d-don’t know why you wanted t-t-to meet here of all p-places, Severus…”

Snape’s icy voice sent a tendril of dread down Primrose’s spine, and she had to fight the urge to flee. “Oh, I thought we’d keep this private. Students aren’t supposed to know about the Philosopher’s Stone, after all.”

Quirrell began to stutter out a reply, but Snape talked right over him. “Have you found out how to get past that beast of Hagrid’s yet?”

“B-b-but Severus, I-”

“You don’t want me as your enemy, Quirrell,” Snape hissed, stepping even closer.

Quirrell stuttered something else, but Primrose couldn’t hear it over the sudden hoot of an owl. She nearly fell off her broom at the loud noise, her heart beating out of her chest. It seemed ages later when the blood finally stopped roaring in her ears.

“-have another little chat soon, when you’ve had time to think things over and decide where your loyalties lie.”

Snape stalked out of the forest, leaving both Quirrell and Primrose frozen in fear.

 

 

* * *

  


Primrose was bombarded by Hermione and Ron the moment she stumbled into the entryway of the castle.

“Primrose, where have you _been_?”

“We won! _You_ won! We won! And I gave Malfoy a black eye! Neville took on Crabbe and Goyle - he’s still in the hospital wing but Madam Pomfrey says he’ll be fine-”  

Ron looked entirely too happy for someone with a split lip. Primrose shook her head. “Forget about that, I have to tell you something important!”

She pulled them into an abandoned classroom, making sure no one was around, and told them what she’d heard in the forest.

“So, let me get this straight,” Hermione said, her face falling. “The only thing standing between Professor Snape and the Philosopher’s Stone... is Professor Quirrell?  
“Bloody _hell_ ,” Ron groaned. “It’ll be gone by next Tuesday!”


End file.
